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SONNETS AND LYRICS 



Sonnets and Lyrics 



y 



BY 



HELEN JACKSON (H. H.) 



AUTHOR OF 



"verses," "ramona," "bits of travel," etc., etc. 



ii 




W\ 



BOSTON X^IPF w Asnm^ 
ROBERTS BROTHERS 
1886 






Copyright, 1886, 
By Roberts Brothers. 



John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



T TNTO one who lies at rest 

^ Neath the sunset^ in the Westy 
Clover-blosso7ns on Jier breast. 



Lover of each gracious thing 
Which makes glad the stimnier-tidey 
Fro77i the daisies clustering 
And the violets purple-eyed^ 
To those shy and hidden blooms 
Which i7t forest coverts stay^ 
Sending wandering perfumes 
Out as guides to show the way. 
All she kjteWj to all was kind ; 
None so humble or so small 
That she did not seek and find 
Silent friendship from theiri all. 
Moss-cupSy tiarella leaves. 
Dappled like the adder* s skin. 
Fungus huts with ivory eaves 
Which the fairies harbor in, 
Regimejits of fronded ferns, 
Golden-rod and asters frail. 
Every fiaming leaf that bu7'ns 
Red against the autu77in pale. 
Every pink-cupped wayside rose, — 
All to her were dear a7id k7town; 
But above the7n all she chose 
Clover-blossoms for her own. 

So they laid her to her rest 

In the sun-war77ied, boimteotis West, 

Clover-blosso7ns 07i her breast. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

A Dream 7 

^Danger 9 

Freedom 10 

The Gods said Love is Blind . 11 

The Fir-Tree and the Brook 12 

A Rose-Leaf 14 

A Woman's Battle 15 

Esther . 16 

Vashti 17 

Burnt Offering iS 

Bon Voyage 20 

New Year's Morning 21 

January 23 

February 24 

March 25 

April 26 

May 27 



VIU CONTENTS, 

PAGE 

June 28 

July 29 

August 30 

September 31 

\OCTOBER 32 

November 33 

December 34 

Refrain 35 

To AN Absent Lover 38 

Crossed Threads 39 

Outward Bound . . . 40 

Sealed Orders 41 

Two 42 

The Gift of Grapes 44 

Avalanches 51 

A Woman's Death-Wound 52 

Chance 53 

September 54 

Appeal 56 

W^RECK 57 

The Heart of a Rose 58 

Acquainted with Grief 59 

Fealty 61 

Vision 62 

The Poet's Forge 61^ 

Vanity of Vanities . , . . , 65 



CONTENTS. ix 

PAGE 

Morn d^^ 

Quatrains 68 

Release 70 

Where? 71 

Emigravit 72 

My Tenants ^ji^ 

The Story of Boon 7^ 

The Victory of Patience 94 



God's Light-Houses 



95 



Songs of Battle 97 

No Man's Land 98 

Just out of Sight 100 

September Woods 102 

To-day 105 

Opportunity 106 

Flowers on a Grave 107 

A Measure of Hours 109 

Charlotte Cushman 112 

Dedication 114 

Dawn 115 

Eve 115 

Dreams 116 

The Day-Star in the East 117 

October's bright blue Weather 119 

The Riviera 121 

Semitones 122 



X COXTEXTS. 

PAGE 

In the Dark 123 

MoRDECAi 124 

Ix April 123 

Two Harvests 127 

Haieas Corpus 129 

A Last Pra^^tir 1-2 

The Song he xe\'er Wrote i:>:; 




A DREAM. 




DREAMED that I was dead and crossed 
the heavens, — 
Heavens after heavens with burning feet 
and swift, — 
And cried : '' O God, where art Thou ? I left one 
On earth, whose burden I would pray Thee lift." 



I was so dead I wondered at no thing, — 
Not even that the angels slowly turned 

Their faces, speechless, as I hurried by 

(Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned) ; 



Nor, at the first, that I could not find God, 

Because the heavens stretched endlessly like 
space. 

At last a terror seized my very soul ; 
I seemed alone in all the crowded place. 



8 A DREAM, 

Then, sudden, one compassionate cried out, 

Though like the rest his face from me he turned, 

As I were one no angel might regard 

(Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned) : 

•^ No more in heaven than earth will he find God 
Who does not know his loving mercy swift 

But waits the moment consummate and ripe. 
Each burden from each human soul to lift/' 

Though I was dead, I died again for shame ; 

Lonely, to flee from heaven again I turned ; 
The ranks of angels looked away from me 

(Beneath my feet the golden pavements burned). 



DANGER, 




DANGER. 

j^ITH what a childish and short-sighted 
sense 
Fear seeks for safety ; reckons up the 
days 
Of danger and escape, the hours and ways 
Of death ; it breathless flies the pestilence ; 
It walls itself in towers of defence ; 
By land, by sea, against the storm it lays 
Down barriers ; then, comforted, it says : 
" This spot, this hour is safe." Oh, vain pretence ! 
Man born of man knows nothing when he goes ; 
The winds blow where they Kst, and will disclose 
To no man which brings safety, which brings risk. 
The mighty are brought low by many a thing 
Too small to name. Beneath the daisy's disk 
Lies hid the pebble for the fatal sling. 



10 FREEDOM. 



FREEDOM. 




HAT freeman knoweth freedom? Never 

he 
Whose father's fathers through long lives 

have reigned 
O'er kingdoms which mere heritage attained. 
Though from his youth to age he roam as free 
As winds, he dreams not freedom's ecstasy. 
But he whose birth was in a nation chained 
For centuries ; where every breath was drained 
From breasts of slaves which knew not there could 

be 
Such thing as freedom, — he beholds the light 
Burst, dazzling ; though the glory blind his sight 
He knows the joy. Fools laugh because he reels 
And wields confusedly his infant will ; 
The wise man watching with a heart that feels 
Says : "Cure for freedom's harms is freedom still." 



THE GODS SAID LOVE IS BLIND. II 




THE GODS SAID LOVE IS BLIND. 

HE gods said Love is blind. The earth 

was young 
With foolish, youthful laughter when it 

heard ; 
It caught and spoke the letter of the words, 
And from that time till now hath said and sung, 
" Oh, Love is blind ! The falsest face and tongue 
Can cheat him, once his passion's thrill is stirred : 
He is so blind, poor Love ! " 

Strange none demurred 
At this, nor saw how hollow false it rang, 
When all men know that sightless men can tell 
Unnumbered things which vision cannot find. 
Powers of the air are leagued to guide them well ; 
And things invisible weave clew and spell 
By which all labyrinths they safely wind. 
Ah, we were lost, if Love had not been blind ! 



12 THE FIR-TREE AND THE BROOK, 



THE FIR-TREE AND THE BROOK. 



I^^^I'HE Fir- Tree looked on stars, but loved the 
Brook! 




" O silver- voiced ! if thou wouldst wait, 
My love can bravely woo." All smiles forsook 
The Brook's white face. " Too late ! 
Too late ! I go to wed the sea. 
I know not if my love would curse or bless thee. 
I may not, dare not, tarry to caress thee. 
Oh, do not follow me ! " 

The Fir-Tree moaned and moaned till spring ; 

Then laughed in maniac joy to feel 

Early one day, the woodmen of the King 

Sign him with sign of burning steel, 

The first to fall. " Now flee 

Thy swiftest. Brook ! Thy love may curse or bless 

me, 
I care not, if but once thou dost caress me, 
O Brook, I follow thee ! " 

All torn and bruised with mark of axe and chain. 
Hurled down the dizzy slide of sand, 



THE FIR-TREE AND THE BROOK. 1 3 

Tossed by great waves in ecstasy of pain, 

And rudely thrown at last to land, 

The Fir-Tree heard : " Oh, see 

With what fierce love it is I must caress thee ! 

I warned thee I might curse, and never bless thee, 

Why did'st thou follow me? " 

All stately set with spar and brace and rope, 

The Fir-Tree stood and sailed, and sailed. 

In wildest storm when all the ship lost hope. 

The Fir-Tree never shook nor quailed, 

Nor ceased fi'om saying, '' Free 

Art thou, O Brook ! But once thou hast caressed 

me; 
For life, for death, thy love has cursed or blessed 

me ; 
Behold, I follow thee ! " 

Lost in a night, and no man left to tell, 

Crushed in the giant icebergs' play, 

The ship went down without a song, a knell. 

Still drifts the Fir-Tree night and day ; 

Still moans along the sea 

A voice : '' O Fir-Tree ! thus must I possess thee ; 

Eternally, brave love, will I caress thee. 

Dead for the love of me ! " 



14 



A ROSE-LEAF, 



A ROSE-LEAF. 




ROSE-LEAF on the snowy deck, 
The high wind whirling it astern ; 

Nothing the wind could know or reck ; 
Why did the King's eye thither turn ? 



^^The Queen lias walked here ! " hoarse he cried. 
The courtiers, stunned, turned red, turned 
white ; 
No use if they had stammered, lied ; 
Aghast they fled his angry sight. 

Kings' wives die quick, when kings go mad ; 

To death how fair and grave she goes ! 
What if the king knew now, she had 

Shut in her hand a little rose ? 



And men die quick when kings have said ; 

Bleeding, dishonored, flung apart 
In outcast field a man lies dead 

With rose-leaves warm upon his heart. 



A WOMAN'S BATTLE. 15 




A WOMAN'S BATTLE. 

EAR foe, I know thou 'It win the fight. 
I know thou hast the stronger bark, 
And thou art sailing in the light, 
Wliile I am creeping in the dark. 
Thou dost not dream that I am crying, 
As I come up with colors flying. 

I clear away my wounded, slain. 

With strength like frenzy, strong and swift ; 
I do not feel the tug and strain, 

Though dead are heavy, hard to lift. 
If I looked in their faces dying, 
I could not keep my colors flying. 

Dear foe, it will be short, — our fight, — 
Though lazily thou train'st thy guns ; 

Fate steers us, — me to deeper night. 
And thee to brighter seas and suns ; 

But thou 'It not dream that I am dying, 

As I sail by with colors flying ! 



1 6 ESTHER. 



ESTHER. 

I^^^i FACE more vivid than he dreamed who 

l^^^i Thy portrait in that thrilling tale of old ! 

Dead queen, we see thee still, thy beauty cold 

As beautiful ; thy dauntless heart which knew 

No fear, — not even of a king who slew 

At pleasure ; maiden heart which was not sold, 

Though all the maiden flesh the king's red gold 

Did buy ! The loyal daughter of the Jew, 

No hour saw thee forget his misery ; 

Thou wert not queen until thy race went free ; 

Yet thoughtful hearts, that ponder slow and deep. 

Find doubtful reverence at last for thee ; 

Thou heldest thy race too dear, thyself too cheap ; 

Honor no second place for truth can keep. 



VASHTL 17 



VASHTI. 




N all great Shushan's palaces was there 
Not one, O Vashti, knowing thee so 
well, 

Poor uncrowned queen, that he the world could tell 
How thou wert pure and loyal-souled as fair? 
How it was love which made thee bold to dare 
Refuse the shame which madmen would compel? 
Not one, who saw the bitter tears that fell 
And heard thy cry heart-rending on the air : 
'' Ah me ! My Lord could not this thing have 

meant ! 
He well might loathe me ever, if I go 
Before these drunken princes as a show. 
I am his queen : I come of king's descent. 
I will not let him bring our crown so low ; 
He will but bless me when he doth repent ! " 



BURNT OFFERING. 




BURNT OFFERING. 

ijHE fire leaped up, swift, hot, and red ; 
Swift, hot, and red, waiting a prey ; 
The woman came with swift, light tread, 
And silently knelt down to lay 
Armfuls of leaves upon the fire. 
As men lay fagots on a pyre. 

Armfuls of leaves which had been bright 
Like painter's tints six months before. 

All faded now, a ghastly sight, 
Dusty and colorless, she bore, 

And knelt and piled them on the fire, 

As men lay fagots on the pyre. 

Watching the crackle and the blaze, 

Idly I smiled and idly said : 
" Good-by, dead leaves, go dead leaves' ways. 

Next year there will be more as red." 
The woman turned, and from the fire 
Looked up as from a funeral-pyre. 



BURNT OFFERING. 1 9 

I saw my idle words had been 

Far crueler than I could know, 
And made an old wound bleed again. 

"These are not leaves," she whispered low, 
" That I am burning in the fire, 
But days, — it is a funeral pyre." 



20 BON VOYAGE. 




BON VOYAGE. 

HERE 'S not an hour but from some spark- 
\:^. ling beach 

Go joyful men, in fragile ships to sail, 
By unknown seas to unknown lands. They hail 
The freshening winds with eager hope, and speech 
Of w^ondrous countries which they soon will reach. 
Left on the shore, we wave our hands, with pale. 
Wet cheeks, but hearts that are ashamed to quail, 
Or own the grief which selfishness would teach. 
O Death, the fairest lands beyond thy sea 
Lie waiting, and thy barks are swift and stanch 
And ready. Why do we reluctant launch ? 
And when our friends their heritage have claimed 
Of thee, and entered on it, rich and free. 
Oh, why are we of sorrow not ashamed? 



NEW YEAR'S MORNING. 21 



NEW YEAR'S MORNING. 




NLY a night from old to new ! 

Only a night, and so much wrought ! 

The Old Year's heart all weary grew, 
But said : '' The New Year rest has brought." 
The Old Year's heart its hopes laid down, 
As in a grave ; but, trusting, said : 
" The blossoms of the New Year's crown 
Bloom from the ashes of the dead." 
The Old Year's heart was full of greed ; 
With selfishness it longed and ached, 
And cried : " I have not half I need. 
My thirst is bitter and unslaked. 
But to the New Year's generous hand 
All gifts in plenty shall return ; 
True loving it shall understand ; 
By all my failures it shall learn. 
I have been reckless ; it shall be 
Quiet and calm and pure of life. 
I was a slave ; it shall go free, 
And find sweet peace where I leave strife." 



22 JV£JV YEAR'S MORNING. 

Only a night from old to new ! 
Never a night such changes brought. 
The Old Year had its work to do ; 
No New Year miracles are wrought. 

Always a night from old to new ! 

Night and the heahng balm of sleep ! 

Each morn is New Year's morn come true, 

Morn of a festival to keep. 

All nights are sacred nights to make 

Confession and resolve and prayer ; 

All days are sacred days to wake 

New gladness in the sunny air. 

Only a night from old to new ; 

Only a sleep from night to morn. 

The new is but the old come true ; 

Each sunrise sees a new year born. 



JANUARY. 23 




JANUARY. 

WINTER ! frozen pulse and heart of fire, 
What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom 
turn 

Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn 
Of death ! Far sooner in midsummer tire 
The streams than under ice. June could not hire 
Her roses to forego .the strength they learn 
In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn 
The bridges thou dost lay where men desire 
In vain to build. 

O Heart, when Love's sun goes 
To northward, and the sounds of singing cease. 
Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace. 
Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose. 
Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows, 
The winter is the winter's own release. 



24 FEBRUARY. 




FEBRUARY. 

»TILL lie the sheltering snows, undimmed 

and white ; 
And reigns the winter's pregnant silence 

still ; 
No sign of spring, save that the catkins fill, 
And willow stems grow daily red and bright. 
These are the days when ancients held a rite 
Of expiation for the old year's ill, 
And prayer to purify the new year's will : 
Fit days, ere yet the spring rains blur the sight, 
Ere yet the bounding blood grows hot with haste, 
i!\nd dreaming thoughts grow heavy with a greed 
The ardent summer's joy to have and taste ; 
Fit days, to give to last year's losses heed. 
To reckon clear the new hfe's sterner need ; 
Fit days, for Feast of Expiation placed ! 



MARCH, 25 




MARCH. 

rONTH which the warring ancients strangely 
styled 
The month of war, — as if in their fierce 
ways 
Were any month of peace ! — in thy rough days 
I find no war in Nature, though the wild 
Winds clash and clang, and broken boughs are piled 
At feet of writhing trees. The violets raise 
Their heads without afiright, without amaze, 
And sleep through all the din, as sleeps a child. 
And he who watches well may well discern 
Sweet expectation in each living thing. 
Like pregnant mother the sweet earth doth yearn ; 
In secret joy makes ready for the spring ; 
And hidden, sacred, in her breast doth bear 
Annunciation lilies for the year. 



26 APRIL. 




APRIL. 

i|0 days such honored days as these ! While 
yet 
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide 
For some fair thing which should forever bide 
On earth, her beauteous memory to set 
In fitting frame that no age could forget, 
Her name in lovely April's name did hide, 
And leave it there, eternally allied 
To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget. 
And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth. 
Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth, 
A holier symbol still in seal and sign. 
Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine. 
When Christ ascended, in the time of birth 
Of spring anemones, in Palestine. 



MA K 27 




MAY. 

MONTH when they who love must love 

and wed ! 
Were one to go to worlds where May is 

naught, 
And seek to tell the memories he had brought 
From earth of thee, what were most fitly said ? 
I know not if the rosy showers shed 
From apple-boughs, or if the soft green wrought 
In fields, or if the robin's call be fraught 
The most with thy delight. Perhaps they read 
Thee best who in the ancient time did say 
Thou wert the sacred month unto the old : 
No blossom blooms upon thy brightest day 
So subtly sweet as memories which unfold 
In aged hearts which in thy sunshine lie, 
To sun themselves once more before they die. 



28 



JUNE, 



JUNE. 




MONTH whose promise and fulfilment 

blend, 
And burst in one ! it seems the earth can 
store 
In all her roomy house no treasure more ; 
Of all her wealth no farthing have to spend 
On fruit, when once this stintless flowering end. 
And yet no tiniest flower shall fall before 
It hath made ready at its hidden core 
Its tithe of seed, which we may count and tend 
Till harvest. Joy of blossomed love, for thee 
Seems it no fairer thing can yet have birth? 
No room is left for deeper ecstasy? 
Watch well if seeds grow strong, to scatter free 
Germs for thy future summers on the earth. 
A joy which is but joy soon comes to dearth. 



JULY. 29 




JULY. 

OME flowers are withered and some joys 

have died ; 
The garden reeks with an East Indian 

scent 
From beds where gillyflowers stand weak and spent ; 
The white heat pales the skies from side to side ; 
But in still lakes and rivers, cool, content. 
Like starry blooms on a new firmament, 
White lilies float and regally abide. 
In vain the cruel skies their hot rays shed ; 
The lily does not feel their brazen glare. 
In vain the pallid clouds refuse to share 
Their dews ; the lily feels no thirst, no dread. 
Unharmed she lifts her queenly face and head ; 
She drinks of living waters and keeps fair. 



30 AUGUST. 



AUGUST. 

l^^pILENCE again. The glorious symphony 
Hath need of pause and interval of peace. 
Some subtle signal bids all sweet sounds 
cease, 
Save hum of insects' aimless industry. 
Pathetic summer seeks by blazonry 
Of color to conceal her swift decrease. 
Weak subterfuge ! Each mocking day doth fleece 
A blossom, and lay bare her poverty. 
Poor middle-aged summer ! Vain this show ! 
Whole fields of golden-rod cannot offset 
One meadow with a single violet ; 
And well the singing thrush and Hly know, 
Spite of all artifice which her regret 
Can deck in splendid guise, their time to go ! 



SEPTEMBER. 



31 




SEPTEMBER. 

GOLDEN month ! How high thy gold 

is heaped ! 
The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright 
coins strung 
On wands ; the chestnut's yellow pennons tongue 
To every wind its harvest challenge. Steeped 
In yellow, still lie fields where wheat was reaped ; 
And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked among 
The yellow gourds, which fi-om the earth have wrung 
Her utmost gold. To highest boughs have leaped 
The purple grape, — last thing to ripen, late 
By very reason of its precious cost. 
O Heart, remember, vintages are lost 
If grapes do not for freezing night-dews wait. 
Think, while thou sunnest thyself in Joy's estate. 
Mayhap thou canst not ripen without frost ! 



32 OCTOBER. 



OCTOBER. 

l^^^^HE month of carnival of all the year, 
k; ' \\ hen ^i ature lets the wild earth go its way, 
1%"^-^:^^ : And spend whole seasons on a single day. 
The spring-time holds her white and purple dear ; 
October, lavish, flaunts them far and near ; 
The summer charily her reds doth lay 
Like jewels on her costliest array ; 
October, scornful, burns them on a bier. 
The winter hoards his pearls of frost in sign 
Of kingdom : whiter pearls than winter knew. 
Or Empress wore, in Egypt's ancient line, 
October, feasting 'neath her dome of blue, 
Drinks at a single draught, slow filtered through 
Sunshiny air, as in a tingling wine ! 



NOVEMBER. 33 




NOVEMBER. 

flHIS is the treacherous month when autumn 
days 
With summer's voice come bearing sum- 
mer's gifts. 
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts 
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze 
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways, 
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts, 
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts 
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays 
Will idly shine upon and slowly melt. 
Too late to bid the violet live again. 
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain ; 
Bare are the places v>^here the sweet flowers dwelt. 
What joy sufficient hath November felt? 
What profit from the violet's day of pain? 



34 DECEMBER. 




DECEMBER. 

(IHE lakes of ice gleam bluer than the lakes 
Of water 'neath the summer sunshine 
gleamed : 

Far fairer than when placidly it streamed, 
The brook its frozen architecture makes, 
And under bridges white its swift way takes. 
Snow comes and goes as messenger who dreamed 
Might linger on the road ; or one who deemed 
His message hostile gently for their sakes 
Who listened might reveal it by degrees. 
We gird against the cold of winter wind 
Our loins now with mighty bands of sleep. 
In longest, darkest nights take rest and ease, 
And every shortening day, as shadows creep 
O'er the brief noontide, fresh surprises find. 



KEFRAIN. 



35 



REFRAIN. 




F all the songs which poets sing, 
The ones which are most sweet, 
Are those which at close intervals 
A low refrain repeat ; 
Some tender word, some syllable, 
Over and over, ever and ever, 
While the song lasts. 
Altering never. 
Music if sung, music if said, 
Subtle like some fine golden thread 
A shuttle casts. 
In and out on a fabric red, 
Till it glows all through 
With the golden hue. 
Oh ! of all the songs sung. 

No songs are so sweet 
As the songs with refrains. 
Which repeat and repeat. 

Of all the lives lived. 
No life is so sweet, 



36 REFRAIN. 

As the life where one thought, 

In refrain doth repeat, 
Over and over, ever and ever, 

Till the life ends, 

Altering never, 
Joy which is felt, but is not said, 
Subtler than any golden thread 

Which the shuttle sends 
In and out in a fabric red. 

Till it glows all through 

With a golden hue. 
Oh ! of all the hves lived. 

Can be no life so sweet 
As the life where one thought 

In refrain doth repeat. 



" Now name me a thought 

To make life so sweet, 
A thought of such joy 

Its refrain to repeat." 
Oh ! foolish to ask me. Ever, ever 
Who loveth believes, 
But telleth never. 
It might be a name, just a name not said. 
But in every thought ; like a golden thread 
Which the shuttle weaves 
In and out on a fabric red, 



REFRAIN. 37 

Till it glows all through 

With a golden hue. 
Oh ! of all sweet lives, 

Who can tell how sweet 
Is the life which one name 

In refrain doth repeat ? 



38 TO AN ABSENT LOVER. 



TO AN ABSENT LOVER. 




HAT so much change should come when 
thou dost go, 
Is mystery that I cannot ravel quite. 
The very house seems dark as when the light 
Of lamps goes out. Each wonted thing doth grow 
So altered, that I wander to and fro 
Bewildered by the most familiar sight, 
And feel like one who rouses in the night 
From dream of ecstasy, and cannot know 
At first if he be sleeping or awake. 
My foolish heart so foolish for thy sake 
Hath grown, dear one ! 

Teach me to be more wise. 
I blush for all my foohshness doth lack ; 
I fear to seem a coward in thine eyes. 
Teach me, dear one, — but first thou must 
come back ! 



CROSSED THREADS. 39 




CROSSED THREADS. 

j|HE silken threads by viewless spinners 
spun, 
Which float so idly on the summer air, 
And help to make each summer morning fair, 
Shining like silver in the summer sun. 
Are caught by wayward breezes, one by one. 
And blown to east and west and fastened there, 
Weaving on all the roads their sudden snare. 
No sign which road doth safest, freest run, 
The winged insects know, that soar so gay 
To meet their death upon each summer day. 
How dare we any human deed arraign ; 
Attempt to reckon any moment's cost ; 
Or any pathway trust as safe and plain 
Because we see not where the threads have crossed ? 



40 OUTWARD BOUND, 




OUTWARD BOUND. 

HE hour has come. Strong hands the 

anchor raise ; 
Friends stand and weep along the fading 

shore, 
In sudden fear lest we return no more, 
In sudden fancy that he safer stays 
Who stays behind ; that some new danger lays 
New snare in each fresh path untrod before. 
Ah, foolish hearts ! in fate's mysterious lore 
Is written no such choice of plan and days : 
Each hour has its own peril and escape ; 
In most famihar things' familiar shape 
New danger comes without or sight or sound ; 
No sea more foreign rolls than breaks each morn 
Across our thresholds when the day is born : 
We sail, at sunrise, daily, '' outward bound." 



SEALED ORDERS, 41 



SEALED ORDERS. 




HEN ship with " orders sealed " sails out 
to sea, 
Men eager crowd the wharves, and rev- 
erent gaze 
Upon their faces whose brave spirits raise 
No question if the unknown voyage be 
Of deadly peril. Benedictions free 
And prayers and tears are given, and the days 
Counted till other ships, on homeward ways, 
May bring back message of her destiny. 
Yet, all the time, Life's tossing sea is white 
With scudding sails which no man reefs or stays 
By his own will, for roughest day or night : 
Brave, helpless crews, with captain out of sight, 
Harbor unknown, voyage of long delays, 
They meet no other ships on homeward ways. 



42 TJVO. 



TWO. 



APART. 




i^NE place — one roof — one name — their 
daily bread 
In daily sacrament they break 



Together, and together take 

Perpetual counsel, such as use has fed 

The habit of, in words which make 

No lie. For courtesy's sweet sake 

And pity's, one brave heart whose joy is dead, 

Smiles ever, answering words which wake 

But weariness ; hides all its ache, — 

Its hopeless ache, its longing and its dread ; 

Strong as a martyr at the stake 

Renouncing self; striving to slake 

The pangs of thirst on bitter hyssop red 

With vinegar ! O brave, strong heart ! 

God sets all days, all hours apart, 

Joy Cometh at his hour appointed. 



TWO. 43 



TOGETHER. 

No touch — no sight — no sound — wide continents 

And seas clasp hands to separate 

Them from each other now. Too late ! 

Triumphant Love has leagued the elements 

To do their will. Hath light a mate 

For swiftness ? Can it overweight 

The air ? Or doth the sun know accidents ? 

The light, the air, the sun, inviolate 

For them, do constant keep and state 

Message of their ineffable contents 

And raptures, each in each. So great 

Their bliss of loving, even fate 

In parting them, hath found no instruments 

Whose bitter pain insatiate 

Doth kill it, or their faith abate 

In presence of Love's hourly sacraments. 



44 THE GIFT OF GRAPES. 



THE GIFT OF GRAPES. 



A LEGEND OF THE FOURTH CENTURY. 




HE desert sun was sinking red ; 
Hot as at noon the light was shed. 



Bareheaded, on the scorching sands, 
Macarius knelt with clasped hands, 

And prayed, as he had prayed for years, 
With smitings and with bitter tears. 

^' Good hermit, here ! " — a hand outstretched, — 
It was as if an angel fetched 

The purple clusters, dewy blue, — 

" Good hermit, here ! These grapes for you ! " 

Swift swept the rider by. The grapes 
Lay at the hermit's feet. ^^ Like shapes 

^^ Of magic, sent to tempt my sense," 
Macarius thought. '' Sathanas, hence ! " 



THE GIFT OF GRAPES. 45 

He cried. " I will not touch nor taste. 
Yet, were it not wrong such &uit to waste? '* 

He paused. '' I '11 leave it at his door, 
My neighbor, who with illness sore 

" Is like to die. He may partake. 
And sin not. Ay, for Jesus' sake, 

" I will his dying lips beseech, 
Command, as if I were his leech." 

Thus speaking, trembling as he spoke, 
Such parched desire within him woke, 

To taste the grapes, he swiftly ran. 
And, kneeling by the dying man, 

Held up the clusters, crying, '' See, 
O brother ! these were given me. 

" I may not eat them ; I am strong ; 
But thou — it were for thee no wrong. 

" Thy fever they will cool, allay ; 
Thy failing strength revive and stay." 

Reproachful turned the dying eyes, 
The whispers came like dying sighs : 



46 THE GIFT OF GRAPES, 

" Brother, thou mightst do better deed 
Than tempt the dying in his need. 

'' Thy words are but the devil's mesh, 
To snare at last my carnal flesh." 

Silent, Macarius went his way. 
Untouched the purple clusters lay 

Beside the dying hermit's bed. 

They found them there who found him dead, - 

Two brother hermits who each morn, 
Water and bread to him had borne. 

" He drinks of hving waters now," 
They pious said, and smoothed his brow, 

And prayed, and laid him in the ground, 
Envying the rest he had found. 

The purple grapes still lying there, 
Filled with sweet scent the desert air. 

^^ Where could these luscious clusters grow? " 
" He tasted not," they whispered low ; 

" But fairer fruit glads now his eyes : 
He feasts to-day in paradise." 



THE GIFT OF GRAPES. 47 

On each a longing silence fell. 

'^ Brother, they tempt our souls to hell ! " 

Cried one. The other : " Ay, how weak 
Our flesh 1 Strange that so long we seek 

'^ In vain to dull its carnal sense. 
Brother, we '11 bear these clusters hence. 

" That aged hermit, in the cave, 
Perchance these grapes his life might save. 

'^ Thou knowest, but yesterday 't was said 
He starves ; eats neither pulse nor bread." 

Slow braiding baskets, in his door 
The aged hermit sat, his store 

Of rushes and his water-jar 

In reach. He heard their steps afar. 

And, as they nearer drew, up-raised 
His well-nigh sightless eyes, and gazed 

Bewilderedly. " Eat, father, eat ! " 
The brothers cried, and at his feet, 

Rev'rent, the purple clusters laid. 
Trembling, but stern, the right hand made 



48 THE GIFT OF GRAPES. 

Swift gesture of reproof. ^^ Away ! " 
In feeble voice he cried, " and pray 

'^ To be forgiven ! Heinous sin 
Is his who lets temptation in." 

Meek-bowed, the brothers turned to go. 
'' Stay ! " said the hermit, whispering low : 

^^ Leave them not here to tempt my sight. 
I may not eat. Some other might. 

" As each man thinketh in his heart, 
So must he reckon duty's part. 

^^ Mayhap some brother, in sore strait, 
Even this hour doth sit and wait, 

'^ To whom God sends these clusters sweet 
By your pure hands. Be true ! Be fleet ! " 

From cave to cave, from cell to cell, 
The brothers did their errand wxll. 

In Nitria's desert, hermits then 
By scores were dwelling, holy men, 

Mistaken saints, who thought to save 
Their souls, by making life a grave. 



THE GIFT OF GRAPES. 49 

From cave to cave, from cell to cell, 
The brothers did their errand well. 

At every hermit's feet they laid 

The tempting grapes, in vain, nor stayed 

Till, at the desert's utmost bound, 
Macarius's cell they joyful found, — 

Macarius, oldest, holiest saint 
Of all the desert. Weary, faint, 

They knelt before him. " Father, see 
These grapes ! they must be meant for thee ! 

'' These many days we bear them now ; 
And yet they do not withered grow. 

" No brother will so much as taste. 
'T was Isidore who bade us haste 

" To find the man to whom God sent 
The luscious gift. They must be meant 

" For thee. Thou art the last." '' Ay," said 
The good Macarius, flushing red 

With holy joy, — " Ay ; meant for me, 
As token of the constancy 
4 



Jo THE GIFT OF GRAPES. 

'' Of all our brothers ! Blessed day 
Is this, my brothers ! Go your way ! 

" Christ fill your souls with lasting peace ! 
The time is near of my release." 

Then, kneehng on the scorching sands, 

He stretched toward heaven his clasped hands, 

And prayed, as he had prayed for years. 
With smitings and with bitter tears. 

Untouched, the grapes lay glowing there. 
Filling with scent the desert air. 



A VALANCHES. 5 i 




AVALANCHES. 

HEART that on Love's sunny height doth 
dwell, 
And joy unquestioning by day, by night, 
Serene in trust because the skies are bright ! 
Listen to what all Alpine records tell 
Of days on which the avalanches fell. 
Not days of storm when men were pale with fright, 
And watched the hills with anxious, straining sight, 
And heard in every sound a note of knell ; 
But when in heavens still, and blue, and clear. 
The sun rode high, — those were the hours to fear. 
And so the monks of San Bernard to-day, — 
May the Lord count their souls and hold them dear, — 
When skies are cloudless, in their convent stay, 
And for the souls of dead and dying pray. 



52 A WOMAiV'S DEATH-WOUND, 



A WOMAN'S DEATH-WOUND. 




T left upon her tender flesh no trace. 
The murderer is safe. As swift as light 
The weapon fell, and, in the summer night, 
Did scarce the silent, dewy air displace ; 
'T was but a word. A blow had been less base. 
Like dumb beast branded by an iron white 
With heat, she turned in bhnd and helpless flight, 
But then remembered, and with piteous face 
Came back. 

Since then, the world has nothing missed 
In her, in voice or smile. But she — each day 
She counts until her dying be complete. 
One moan she makes, and ever doth repeat : 
'' O lips that I have loved and kissed and kissed. 
Did I deserve to die this bitterest way ? " 



CHANCE, 53 




CHANCE. 

IjHESE things I wondering saw beneath the 
sun : 
That never yet the race was to the swift, 
The fight unto the mightiest to lift, 
Nor favors unto men whose skill had done 
Great works, nor riches ever unto one 
Wise man of understanding. All is drift 
Of time and chance, and none may stay or sift 
Or know the end of that which is begun. 
Who waits until the wind shall silent keep. 
Will never find the ready hour to sow. 
Who watcheth clouds will have no time to reap. 
At daydawn plant thy seed, and be not slow 
At night. God doth not slumber take nor sleep : 
Which seed shall prosper thou canst never know. 



54 



SEPTEMBER, 



SEPTEMBER. 



j1|HE golden-rod is yellow ; 

The corn is turning brown ; 
^^%^-' The trees in apple orchards 

With fruit are bending down. 




The gentian's bluest fringes 
Are curling in the sun ; 

In dusty pods the milkweed 
Its hidden silk has spun. 

The sedges flaunt their harvest, 
In every meadow nook ; 

And asters by the brook-side 
Make asters in the brook. 



From dewy lanes at morning 
The grapes' sweet odors rise ; 

At noon the roads all flutter 
With yellow butterflies. 



S-EPTEMBER, 55 

By all these lovely tokens 

September clays are here, 
With summer's best of weather, 

And autumn's best of cheer. 

But none of all this beauty 
Which floods the earth and air 

Is unto me the secret 

Which makes September fair. 

'T is a thing which I remember ; 

To name it thrills me yet : 
One day of one September 

I never can forget. 



56 APPEAL. 




APPEAL. 

LOVE, whom I so love, in this sore strait 
Of thine, fall not ! Below thy very feet 
I kneel, so much I reverence thee, so 
sweet 
It is to every pulse of mine to wait 
Thy lightest pleasure, and to bind my fate 
To thine by humblest service. Incomplete 
All heaven. Love, if there thou dost not greet 
Me, with perpetual need which I can sate, 
I and no other ! So I dare to pray 
To thee this prayer. It is not wholly prayer. 
The solemn worships of the ages lay 
Even on God a solemn bond. I dare, — 
Thy worshipper, thy lowly, loving mate, — 
I dare to say, O Love, thou must be great ! " 



WRECK. 57 




WRECK. 

[By the laws of the Rhodians divers were allowed a share 
of the wreck in proportion to the depth to which they had 
gone in search of it.] 

O many fathoms deep my sweet ship lies, 
No ripple marks the place. The gulls' 
white wings 
Pause not ; the boatman idly sleeps or sings, 
Floating above ; and smile to smile, with skies 
That bend and shine, the sunny water vies. 
Too heavy freight, and of too costly things, 
My sweet ship bore. No tempest's mutterings 
Warned me ; but in clear noon, before my eyes 
She sudden faltered, rocked, and with each sail 
Full set, went down ! 

O Heart ! in diver's mail 
Wrap thee. Breathe not till, standing on her deck. 
Thou has confronted all thy loss and wreck. 
Poor coward Heart ! — thou darest not plunge ? — 

For thee 
There lies no other pearl in any sea. 



58 THE HEART OF A ROSE. 




THE HEART OF A ROSE. 

ROSE like a hollow cup with a brim, — 
A brim as pink as the after-glow ; 
Deep down in its heart gold stamens swim, 
Tremble and swim in a sea of snow. 

My Love set it safe in a crystal glass, 

Gently as petals float down at noon. 

Low, in a whisper, my Love's voice said : 

'' Look quick ! In an hour it will be dead. 

I picked it because it will die so soon. 

Now listen, dear Heart, as the seconds pass, 

What the rose will say," my Love's voice said. 

I look and I listen. The flushed pink brim 
Is still as June's warmest after-glow ; 
Silent as stars the gold stamens swim. 
Tremble and swim in their sea of snow. 
I dare not breathe on the crystal glass. 
Lest one sweet petal should fall too soon. 
False was the whisper my Love's voice said, — 
If he had not picked it, it had been dead ; 
But now it will live an eternal noon. 
And I shall hear as the seconds pass 
What the rose will say till I am dead. 



ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF. 59 




ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF. 

OST know Grief well? Hast known her 
long? 
So long, that not with gift or smile, 
Or gliding footstep in the throng, 
She can deceive thee by her guile ? 



So long, that with unflinching eyes 

Thou smilest to thyself apart, 
To watch each flimsy, fresh disguise 

She plans to stab anew thy heart ? 

So long, thou barrest up no door 
To stay the coming of her feet ? 

So long, thou answerest no more. 
Lest in her ear thy cry be sweet ? 

Dost know the voice in which she says, 
" No more henceforth our paths divide ; 

In loneliest nights, in crowded days, 
I am forever by thy side " ? 



6o ACQUAINTED WITH GRIEF. 

Then dost thou know, perchance, the spell 
The gods laid on her at her birth, — 

The viewless gods who mingle well 
Strange love and hate of us on earth. 

Weapon and time, the hour, the place, 
All these are hers to take, to choose, 

To give us neither rest nor grace, 
Not one heart-throb to miss or lose. 

All these are hers ; yet stands she, slave. 
Helpless before our one behest : 

The gods, that we be shamed not, gave. 
And locked the secret in our breast. 

She to the gazing world must bear 
Our crowns of triumph, if we bid ; 

Loyal and mute, our colors wear, 
Sign of her own forever hid. 

Smile to our smile, song to our song, 
With songs and smiles our roses fling, 

Till men turn round in every throng. 
To note such joyous pleasuring. 

And ask, next morn, with eyes that lend 
A fervor to the words they say, 

^^ What is her name, that radiant friend 
Who walked beside you yesterday ? " 



FEALTY, 6 1 




FEALTY. 

i|HE thing I count and hold as fealty — 
The only fealty to give or take — 
Doth never reckoning keep, and coldly 
make 
Bond to itself with this or that to be 
Content as wage ; the wage unpaid, to free 
Its hand from service, and its love forsake, 
Its faith cast off, as one from dreams might wake 
At morn, and smiling watch the vision flee. 
Such fealty is treason in disguise. 
Who trusts it, his death-warrant sealed doth bear. 
Love looks at it with angry, wondering eyes ; 
Love knows the face true fealty doth wear. 
The pulse that beats unchanged by alien air. 
Or hurts, or crimes, until the loved one dies. 



62 VISION, 



VISION. 




Y subtile secrets of discovered law 

Men well have measured the horizon's 

round, 

Kept record of the speed of light and 
sound, 
Have close defined by reasoning without flaw 
The utmost human vision ever saw 
Unaided, and have arrant sought and found 
Devices countless to extend its bound. 
Bootless their secrets all ! My eyes but stray 
To eastward, and majestic, bright, arise 
Peaks of a range which three days distant lies ! 
And of the faces, too, that light my day 
Most clear, one is a continent away. 
The other shines above the farthest skies ! 



THE POET'S FORGE. 63 



THE POET'S FORGE. 




'E lies on his back, the idling smith, 
A lazy, dreaming fellow is he ; 
The sky is blue, or the sky is gray, 



He lies on his back the livelong day. 
Not a tool in sight ; say what they may, 
A curious sort of a smith is he. 

The powers of the air are in league with him ; 

The country around believes it well ; 
The wondering folk draw spying near ; 
Never sight nor sound do they see or hear ; 
No wonder they feel a little fear ; 

When is it his work is done so well ? 

Never sight nor sound to see or hear ; 

The powers of the air are in league with him ; 
High over his head his metals swing, 
Fine gold and silver to shame the king ; 
We might distinguish their glittering. 

If once we could get in league with him. 



64 THE POET'S FORGE. 

High over his head his metals swing ; 

He hammers them idly year by year, 
Hammers and chuckles a low refrain : 
'' A bench and book are a ball and chain, 
The adze is better tool than the plane ; 

What 's the odds between now and next year ? ' 

Hammers and chuckles his low refrain, 

A lazy, dreaming fellow is he : 
When sudden, some day, his bells peal out. 
And men, at the sound, for gladness shout ; 
He laughs and asks what it 's all about ; 

Oh, a curious sort of smith is he ! 



VANITY OF VANITIES, 65 




VANITY OF VANITIES. 

EE to the blossom, moth to the flame ; 
Each to his passion ; what 's in a name ? 



Red clover 's sweetest, well the bee knows ; 
No bee can suck it ; lonely it blows. 

Deep lies its honey, out of reach, deep ; 
What use in honey hidden to keep ? 

Robbed in the autumn, starving for bread ; 
Who stops to pity a honey-bee dead? 

Star-flames are brightest, blazing the skies ; 
Only a hand's-breadth the moth- wing flies. 

Fooled with a candle, scorched with a breath ; 
Poor little miller, a tawdry death ! 

Life is a honey, Hfe is a flame ; 
Each to his passion ; what 's in a name ? 
5 



66 VANITY OF VANITIES. 

Swinging and circling, face to the sun, 
Brief little planet, how it doth run ! 

Bee-time and moth-time, add the amount ; 
White heat and honey, who keeps the count ? 

Gone some fine evening, a spark out-tost ! 
The world no darker for one star lost ! 

Bee to the blossom, moth to the flame ; 
Each to his passion ; what 's in a name ? 



MORN. 67 




MORN. 

N what a strange bewilderment do we 
Awake each morn from out the brief 
night's sleep. 
Our struggling consciousness cloth grope and 

creep 
Its slow way back, as if it could not free 
Itself from bonds unseen. Then Memory, 
Like sudden light, outflashes from its deep 
The joy or grief which it had last to keep 
For us ; and by the joy or grief we see 
The new day dawneth like the yesterday ; 
We are unchanged ; our life the same we knew 
Before. I wonder if this is the way 
We wake from death's short sleep, to struggle 

through 
A brief bewilderment, and in dismay 
Behold our hfe unto our old life true. 



68 QUATRAIXS. 



QUATRAINS. 



THE MONEY-SEEKER. 




'HAT has he in this glorious world's do- 
main ? 
Unreckoned loss which he counts up for 
gain, 
Unreckoned shame, of which he feels no stain, 
Unreckoned dead he does not know were slain. 

What things does he take with him when he dies? 
Nothing of all that he on earth did prize : 
Unto his grovelling feet and sordid eyes 
Plow difficult and empty seem the skies ! 

THE LOVER. 

He knows the utmost secret of the earth : 
The golden sunrise's and sunset's worth ; 
The pregnancy of every blossom's birth ; 
The hidden name of every creature's mirth. 



QUATRAINS. 69 

He knows all measures of the pulse's beat ; 
He knows all pathless paths of human feet ; 
He knows what angels know not of the sweet 
Fulfilments when love's being is complete. 

He knows all deadly soils where poisons bloom ; 
He. knows the fated road where joy makes room 
For nameless terrors and eternal gloom : 
God help him in his sad omniscient doom ! 



yo RELEASE. 




RELEASE. 

'F one had watched a prisoner many a year, 
Standing behind a barred window-pane, 
Fettered with heavy handcuff and with 
chain, 
And gazing on the blue sky, far and clear ; 
And suddenly some morning he should hear 
The man had in the night contrived to gain 
His freedom and was safe, would this bring pain ? 
Ah ! would it not to dullest heart appear 
Good tidings ? 

Yesterday I looked on one 
Who lay as if asleep in perfect peace. 
His long imprisonment for life was done. 
Eternity's great freedom his release 
Had brought. Yet they who loved him called him 

dead, 
And wept, refusing to be comforted. 



WHERE? 71 




WHERE? 

Y snowy eupatorium has dropped 

Its silver threads of petals in the night ; 
No signal told its blossoming had stopped ; 
Its seed-films flutter silent, ghostly white : 
No answer stirs the shining air, 
As I ask, '^ Where?" 

Beneath the glossy leaves of winter- green 
Dead lily-bells He low, and in their place 
A rounded disk of pearly pink is seen, 
Which tells not of the hly's fragrant grace : 

No answer stirs the shining air. 

As I ask, ^^ Where?" 

This morning's sunrise does not show to me 
Seed-film or fruit of my sweet yesterday ; 
Like falling flowers, to realms I cannot see 
Its moments floated silently away : 

No answer stirs the shining air, 

As I ask, ^^ Where?" 



^2 EMIGRAVIT. 



EMIGR-WIT. 




ITH sails full set, the ship her anchor weighs. 
Strange names shine out beneath her figure 
head. 

What glad farewells with eager eyes are said ! 
What cheer for him who goes, and him who stays ! 
Fair skies, rich lands, new homes, and untried days 
Some go to seek ; the rest but wait instead 
Until the next stanch ship her flag doth raise. 
Who knows what myriad colonies there are 
Of fairest fields, and rich, undreamed-of gains 
Thick planted in the distant shining plains 
Which we call sky because they lie so far? 
Oh, wTite of me, not " Died in bitter pains," 
But '^ Emigrated to another star ! " 



MY TENANTS, 



n 



MY TENANTS. 




NEVER had a title-deed 
To my estate. But little heed 
Eyes give to me, when I walk by 

My fields, to see who occupy. 

Some clumsy men who lease and hire 

And cut my trees to feed their fire, 

Own all the land that I possess, 

And tax my tenants to distress. 

And if I said I had been first, 

And, reaping, left for them the worst. 

That they were beggars at the hands 

Of dwellers on my royal lands. 

With idle laugh of passing scorn 

As unto words of madness born, 

They would reply. 

I do not care ; 

They cannot crowd the charmed air ; 

They cannot touch the bonds I hold 

On all that they have bought and sold. 

They can waylay my faithful bees, 

Who, lulled to sleep, with fatal ease, 



74 MY TENANTS. 

Are robbed. Is one day's honey sweet 
Thus snatched ? All summer round my feet 
In golden drifts from plumy wings. 
In shining drops on fragrant things. 
Free gift, it came to me. My com. 
With burnished banners, mom by mom. 
Comes out to meet and honor me ; 
The glittering ranks spread royally 
Far as I walk. WTien hasty greed 
Tramples it down for food and seed, 
I, with a certain veiled delight, 
Hear half the crop is lost by bhght. 

Letter of law these may fulfil, 
Plant where they like, slay what they will. 
Count up their gains and make them great ; 
Nevertheless, the whole estate 
Always belongs to me and mine. 
We are the only royal line. 
And though I have no title-deed 
My tenants pay me loyal heed 
When our sweet fields I wander by 
To see what strangers occupy. 



THE STORY OF BOON. 75 



THE STORY OF BOON.^ 




haunts my thoughts morn, night, and 
noon, 

The story of the woman, Boon, — 
Haunts me hke restless ghost, until 
I give myself to do its will ; 
Cries voiceless, yet as voices cry, — 
'' O singer, can this tale pass by 
Untold by thee ? Thy heart is wrung 
In vain, if dies the song unsung." 
I am unworthy : master hands 
Should strike the chords, and fill the lands 
From sea to sea with melody 
All reverent, yet with harmony 
Majestic, jubilant, to tell 
How love must love, if love loves well ; 
How once incarnate love was found 
On earth, dishonored, martyr-crowned, 
Crowned by a heathen woman's name, — 
O blessed Boon, of peerless fame ! 

1 This story of Boon is strictly true. It is told by Mrs. 
Leonowens, the English Governess at the Siamese court. 
She took it down from Choy's own lips. 



76 THE STORY OF BOON. 

In Siam's court the Buddhist King 

Held festival. Fair girls to sing, 

And dance, and play, were led between 

Close ranks of Amazons in green 

And gold. In chariot milk-white 

Of ivory, and glittering bright 

With flowers garlanded, rode Choy, 

The young, the beautiful ; with joy 

And subtle pride no words could tell, 

Her virgin bosom rose and fell. 

No dream the Siam maiden knew 

More high or blest than that which grew 

In Choy's poor blinded heart, — to be 

The favorite of the King, and see 

The other wives beneath her feet. 

From babyhood, that this was sweet 

The child was taught. How should she know 

They told her false, and worked her woe ! 

The song, the dance, the play, were done, 
Choy's fatal triumph had been won. 
The old king's bleared and lustful eyes 
Had marked her for his next new prize. 
Asking her name, as low she bowed 
Before the throne, he called aloud, — 
^^ Which of my nobles springs to lead 
Her chariot ponies ? Do I need 
Speak farther?" 

On the instant, two 
Young nobles robed in white sprang through 



THE STORY OF BOON. yy 

The crowd, and kneeling as to queen, 
With low-bent head and reverent mien. 
They walked the chariot beside. 
The bands burst forth in swelling tide 
Of music, and the curtain fell. 
One noble, smitten by the spell 
Of Choy's great beauty, whispered, ^' God, 
How beautiful thou art ! " 

^^My Lord, 
Have care," the scornful Choy exclaimed : 
'' 'T were ill for thee, if thou wert blamed 
By me." 

The other noble silent gazed. 
With eyes whose glance strange tumult raised 
Within Choy's breast. He did not speak : 
All spoken words had fallen weak, 
After his look. Yet Choy's heart burned 
To hear his voice. Sudden she turned, 
And leaning forward said, '^ How now, 
What seest thou in air that thou 
Art dumb?" 

With trembling lips he spoke, — 
^^ O Lady, till thy sweet voice broke 
Upon the air, I thought I saw 
An angel ; now, with no less awe, 
But greater joy, I see thou art 
A woman." 

Ah, they know not heart 



78 THE STORY OF BOON, 

Of man or woman, who declare 

That love needs time to love and dare. 

His altars wait, — not day nor name, 

Only the touch of sacred flame. 

The* song, the dance, the play were done. 

Oh, fatal triumph Choy had won ! 

Oh, hateful Hfe she thought was sweet ! 

She knelt before the old king's feet, 

A slave, a toy, a purchased thing. 

Which to his worn-out sense might bring 

Pleasure again of touch, of sight. 

Doting, he named her ^' Chorm," ^' Dehght," 

Decked her with jewels, gave her power, 

And day and night, and hour by hour, 

With hideous caresses sought 

Joy in the thing which he had bought. 

And hour by hour, and night and day, 

Wasted poor Choy's young life away. 

One thrilling voice, one glowing face, 

One thought of such a love's embrace, 

Haunted her thoughts, and racked her breast, 

Robbed her of peace, robbed her of rest. 

Made of her life such living he. 

Such torture, she but prayed to die. 

Months passed, and she knew not the name 
Of him she loved. At last there came 



THE STORY OF BOON. jg 

The fated day. A woman slave, 
New in the palace, quickly gave, 
Answering Choy's artful questioning, 
The noble's name. 

'' Ah, go and bring 
Me news of him," said Choy. " He bore 
Himself so loftily, I more 
Recall him than all else that day. 
Seek out minutely in what way 
He lives ; what may his harem hold. 
He seemed to me so silent, cold, 
No doubt some Houri keeps him chained," 
With scornful laugh, but poorly feigned. 
Cried Choy. 

At dusk of night returned 
The slave, with wondrous tale, which burned 
Itself on Choy's glad heart. 

The Duke, 
Phaya Phi Chitt his name, forsook 
His harem on the day he led 
The Favorite's chariot ponies. Dead 
He seemed to all he once had loved : 
No fear, no joy, his spirit moved. 
His friends believed that he was mad. 
Or else some mortal illness had. 
A feverish joy filled all Choy's thought. 
She knew by what this change was wrought. 
Love's keenest pain, if shared like this. 
No longer seemed a pain, but bliss. 



8o THE STORY OF BOON, 

Again the faithful slave she sent, 

With message of one word, which meant 

But '' I remember." 

'*' I love much," 
The Duke sent back. i.\h, madness such 
As this was never seen. The halls 
Of tyrants' palaces have walls 
Higher than Love's and Hope's last breath, 
Wider than Life, deeper than Death ! 



Embroidered with a thread of gold 

On silk, and hidden fold on fold. 

As if an amulet she wore, 

Her lover's name the poor Choy bore 

By night, by day, upon her heart. 

The new slave woman, with an art 

As tender as a sister's, sought 

To comfort her. Each day she brought 

New message from the Duke, each night 

Lay at her mistress' feet till light. 

O Buddha ! pitiful, divine, 

All- seeing, gav'st thou no sign 

To warn these faithful, loving three, 

Who were as faithful unto thee 

As to each other ! Didst thou teach 

The cruel tyrant how to reach 

Their life blood, that thy arm might save 

Them by the surety of the grave? 



THE STORY OF BOON. 8 1 

Might give to their expiring breath 

The gift of life, in shape of death ? 

Ah, Buddha ! pitiful, divine, 

Thy gifts of death record no sign 

Of life beyond. Our weak hearts crave 

Some voice of surety for the grave. 

The hours grew ripe : the hour was set. 

The night had come. Choy slumbered yet, 

While faithful Boon, with footsteps light, 

Made all things ready for their flight. 

Sudden a clash of arms, — a gleam 

Of fire of torches ! From her dream 

Choy waked, and on her threshold saw. 

Dread sight which chilled her blood with awe, 

Standing with panting voice and breath, 

Ma'i Tai'e, Mother of Deaths 

Crudest of all the Amazons, 

Slayer of all convicted ones 

Who braved the tyrant's wrath and hate. 

Choy called on Boon. Too late ! too late ! 

Boon fettered lay with gag and chain ; 

Most piteous eyes, faithful in pain, 

Unto her mistress lifting still. 

With blows and jeers wreaking their will, 

The soldier women, fierce and strong. 

Dragged weeping Choy and Boon along 

The by-ways of the silent town, 

And flung them, chained and helpless, down 



82 THE STORY OF BOON. 

Into a dark and loathsome cell. 
Soon as their footsteps' echoes fell 
Faintly afar, Choy whispered low, — 
'^ O Boon, dear Boon ! tell me hast thou 
Confessed?" 

" Dear Lady, no ! " she cried. 
" No tortures tyrants ever tried 
Shall wring from me one word of blame 
Against Phaya Phi Chitt's dear name." 
That instant, flashing through Choy's heart 
Strange instinct swept. 

'' Tell me who art 
Thou, Boon," she said : '^why dost thou cling 
To me through all this suffering? 
All other women I have known 
Had left me now to die alone. 
O Boon, conceal from me no more ! 
Tell me the truth in this dread hour ! " 
Then, looking newly at her face, 
She saw it beauty had, and gi'ace ; 
Saw that the feet were lithe and fine, 
The hands were small and smooth : each sign 
Of tender nurture and high blood 
This loving woman bore, who stood 
To her as slave. Unearthly sweet 
Grew Boon's pale face, as to the feet 
Of Choy, all crippled, chained, she crept. 
And. as she strove to speak, but wept 



THE STORY OF BOON. 83 

And sobbed, — 

'' O Lady dear, forgive 
That I deceived thee ! I but live 
For thy dear Duke. I am his wife ! " 
Dumb wonder sealed Choy's lips. A strife 
Of fierce mistrust warred in her breast. 
At last, stern-faced, " Tell me the rest," 
She said. 

Closer, more humbly still 
Boon crept, and said, — 

" Lady, I will ; 
And, by the heart of Buddha, thou 
Canst but forgive when thou dost know 
The whole. 

''' The day my husband came 
Home from the fete, he spoke thy name 
And told thy beauty unto me. 
And said that from that moment he. 
His thought, his heart, his blood, were thine, — 
Thine utterly, and no more mine 
Again. What could I do but weep? 
I saw him pine. No food, no sleep, 
He took. I thought that he must die. 
What could I do? O Lady, I 
So loved him that I longed as he 
That fate might give him joy and thee. 
I vowed to him that I would win 
Thee for his wife. How to begin 



84 THE STORY OF BOON. 

I knew not, when I found thou wert 
The King's last favorite. It hurt 
My pride to be a slave. The gold 
Lies in the sea for which I sold 
Myself to thee, rather than break 
My vow. But easy for his sake, 
I loved him so, thy service came. 
Soon as I found that his dear name 
Was dear to thee as thine to him ; 
That, when I spoke it, it could dim 
Thine eyes with passion's tears, like those 
Which he had shed in passion's throes, 
For want of thee. O Lady, none 
Of all thy sighs and tears, not one. 
But I have flown and faithful told, 
That he might know thou wert not cold. 
Each word of beauty, nobleness. 
Which thou didst speak, I bore to bless 
His heart with knowledge more complete 
Of thee. O Lady, the deceit 
Was only for his precious sake 
And thine : no other way to take 
I knew. My husband is so great, 
So good, I was but humble mate 
For him. As shadow follows shape, 
My heart in life cannot escape 
From following his ; nor yet in death 
Shall it be changed : with dying breath, 



THE STORY OF BOON. 85 

From Buddha I one joy will wrest, 

That he find rapture in thy breast." 

Boon ceased, and in her slender hands, 

Which scarce could lift her fetter bands, 

Buried her face. Choy did not speak. 

Her reverence knew not where to seek 

For fitting words which she might dare 

To use to Boon. The midnight air 

Heard only sobs, as close between 

Her arms she drew Boon's head to lean 

Upon her breast. The long night waned, 

And still in silence sat the chained 

And helpless women. Strange thoughts filled 

The heart of Choy. Her love seemed chilled, 

Poor, and untrue^ beside this one 

Great deed she never could have done. 

'^ Ah, me ! his wife has loved him best,'* 

In bitterness her heart confessed, 

Yet jealousy for shame was dead. 

Her tears fell loving on Boon's head : 

" Dear Boon," she whispered soft and low, 

" To Buddha pitiful we go." 

Next morning when the judges dread 

Cross-questioned Boon, she simply said, 

'' My Lords, what can a poor slave know? " 

Weary at last, the fearful blow 

Of lashes on her naked feet 

They ordered. Blood ran down the sweet 



86 THE STORY OF BOON. 

Soft flesh : still came the answer low, 

*^ My Lords, what can a poor slave know? 

Be pitiful ! " The swift blows fell 

Again : no cry, no sound, to tell 

That it was pain, Boon gave ; no sign 

Of faltering. They poured down wine 

To stay her strength, and then again, — 

Oh, surely fiends they were, not men ! — 

Again, from slender neck to waist, 

The cutting blows in angry haste 

With tenfold violence they laid. 

Each blov/ a line of red blood made ; 

Yet, when they paused, the answer came 

Steadfast, heroic, in the same 

Pathetic words, more feeble, slow, 

'' My Lords, what can a poor slave know?" 

Then in the torture of the screw. 

Whose pain has led strong men to do 

Dishonor to their souls and God, 

They bound this woman's hands. Sweat stood 

In bloody drops along her brow, 

Yet from her lips not even now 

Was heard one syllable. 

In rage, 
The baffled tyrants to assuage 
Her sufferings tried every art 
Which could be tried by kindest heart, 
And snatched her back from death again. 
Again to tortures fresh ; in vain ! 



THE STORY OF BOON, 87 

Night came, and from her lips no word 
Had fallen. All night they faintly stirred, 
As if in sleep she dreamed and spoke. 
Choy watching, weeping by her, took 
Her hand, and said, — 

" Oh, tell thy Choy, 
Art thou in mortal pain ? " 

'' My joy 
Is greater than my pain," she said, 
" That this poor flesh hath not betrayed 
My love. Thanking great Buddha now, 
I pray unceasing, till we go 
Again to torture." Then no more 
Boon spoke. To Choy, but little lower 
Than angel she appeared. Ah ! true 
It was the wife loved best ! Love knew 
His own. His angels comforted 
Her soul with joy through hours which bred 
But anguish in Choy's breast. 

Too soon 
Came cruel day, and brought to Boon 
Again the lash, the screw ; again 
Unto the door of death in vain 
They tortured her : no word escaped 
Her bloodless lips. Her face seemed shaped 
Of iron, so calm, so resolute ; 
A superhuman light her mute 
And upward gaze transfigured, till 
In awe the torturers stood still. 



88 THE STORY OF BOON. 

Then, binding up her wounds, they laid 
Her on a couch to rest. New shade 
Of anguish now her face revealed, 
Waiting Choy's words. All unconcealed. 
No doubt, the weaker love lay bare 
Before her instinct. It could dare 
For self : now that for self remained 
No hope, no future to be gained. 
Could it for him be true, be great? 
Ah, this true torture was, — to wait 
Another woman's courage ! Eyes 
Of fire Boon fixed on Choy. To rise 
She helpless strove, in impulse vain, 
As if by touch she could sustain 
Choy's strength. Her gaze was like a cry. 
" Oh, what is death, is suffering, by 
The side of truth ? If thou dost love 
Another, thought of self can move 
Thee not. If thou dost love, to bear 
The worst is nothing. Dost thou dare 
Betray, thou art a coward, liar !" 
Entreated, warned Boon's eyes of fire. 
They held Choy's eyes as by a spell. 
Feeble the judges' stern tones fell. 
Idle the threats of torture seemed, 
Beside the scorching look which gleamed 
Upon that woman's face. 

Thus stayed 
And stung, Choy bore the blows which laid 



THE STORY OF BOON. 89 

Her quivering flesh in furrows. Feet 
And neck and shoulders, all the sweet 
Fair skin was torn : her blood ran down 
As Boon's had run, — not of her own 
Resolve, but born of Boon's the strength 
Which silent sealed her lips. At length 
The one sure pain which torturers know 
They tried. No rack, no fire, no blow. 
Is dreadful as the screw. At first 
Sharp turn it gave, a loud cry burst 
From Choy, — 

" O Boon, forgive, forgive ! 
I cannot bear this pain, and Hve ! " 
And, shrieking out her lover's name. 
She cowered before Boon's eyes of flame. 
One cry of uttermost despair 
From Boon rang out upon the air, 
Her fettered arms above her head 
She lifted, and fell back as dead. 
Ah ! true it was, the wife loved best ! 
How true, that cry of Choy's confessed. 
To love which she had so betrayed. 
No prayer she for forgiveness made : 
On him whom she had thought her life 
She called not, but upon his wife. 



Swift sped the feet of them who sought 
The lover. Ere the noon, they brought 



9o THE STORY OF BOON, 

Him also. Boon, with anguished eyes, 
Beheld him there. She could not rise, 
But, creeping on her hands and feet. 
She cried, in tones unearthly sweet, — 
'' O Lords ! O Judges ! look at me. 
And listen. It was I, not he. 
I am his wife. I laid the plot. 
Except for me, the thought had not 
Been his. 'Twas only I deceived 
The Lady Choy. He but beheved 
What I desired. The guilt is mine, 
All mine. Tell them it was not thine. 
My husband, — I can bear the whole." 
And, as she turned to him, the soul 
Of love ineffable set smile 
Upon her face. Her piteous guile. 
Transparent, thrilled each heart and ear 
That heard her pleading voice. A tear 
Fell from the sternest Amazon, 
Fierce Khoon Thow App, as in a tone 
No mortal from her lips had heard 
Before, she said, '' O Boon, what stirred 
Thy heart to this? Thy motive tell ! " 
The question all unanswered fell. 
Boon lay again as if in death, 
With closed eyes and gasping breath. 

All night, low on the dark cell's floor. 
Lay Boon and Choy ; for Boon no more 



THE STORY OF BOON. 91 

Remained in life. When Choy crept near, 
And humbly spoke, she answered, " Dear, 
Farewell ! " — no other word. Choy strove, — 
Poor Choy ! her feebler, lesser love 
Avenging on herself its sin, — 
Strove from the greater love to win . 
Some healing stay. Too sweet to pain, 
Too loyal and too true to feign. 
Boon made but one reply, which fell 
Fainter and fainter, '^ Dear, farewell ! " 



That night, at midnight, sat the King 
And Lords in council. For the thing 
Phaya Phi Chitt and Choy had planned. 
Scarcely in all that cruel land 
Was known a punishment which seemed 
Sufficient. Fierce his red wrath gleamed, 
As cried the King, — 

" At dawn shall fly 
The vultures with their hungry cry. 
Rare feast for them ready by noon 
Shall be : three traitors' bodies hewn 
In pieces, and with offal cast 
Abroad, that to the very last 
Low grade of life they may return. 
And grovel with the beasts to learn, 
Through countless ages, in what way 
Kings punish when their slaves betray. 



92 THE STORY OF BOOX. 

Long generations shall forget 
Their base-born names, ere souls are set 
Again within their foul, false flesh, 
To murder love and trust afresh ! " ^ 

Ah ! true it \yas, the wife loved best ! 

Love knew his own, gave her his rest ; 

And, to the other woman, doom 

Of life-long woe and life-long gloom. 

O cruel friends who prayed the King, 

Who dreamed Choy to this world could cling ! 

Reprieved from death, to life condemned, 

Sad prisoner forever hemmed 

Within the hated palace-w*all ; 

By all despised, and shunned by all, 

Lonely and broken-hearted, she 

Weeps day and night in misery. 

And day and night one picture haunts 

Her weary brain, her soitow taunts, — 

Picture of Buddha's fairest fields. 

Where ever}- hour new transport yields, 

And where the lover whom she slew. 

Loyal at last, and glad and true. 

In full Elysium's perfect rest, 

Walks with the one who loved him best ! 

1 The Siamese believe that, whenever a dead body is not 
burned, its soul is condemned to begin life again in the 
lowest animal form. 



THE STORY OF BOON. 93 

It haunts me morn, and night, and noon : 

This story of the woman, Boon, — 

Haunts me Uke restless ghost, that says, — ■ 

'^ Oh, where is love in these sad days ! 

Rise up, and in my might and name 

Plead for the altar and the flame." 

I am unworthy : master hands 

Should strike the chords, and fill the lands 

From sea to sea with melody 

Of such transcendent harmony 

That it all jubilant might tell 

How love must love, if love loves well. 

Yet, telling all, and flooding lands 

With melody, the master hands 

Could strike no deeper chord than I, 

When from a woman's heart I cry, — 

" O martyred Boon, of peerless fame, 

Incarnate in thy life, Love came ! " 



94 THE VICTORY OF PATIEXCE. 



THE VICTORY OF PATIEXCE. 

^^RMED of the gods ! Divinest conqueror ! 
What soundless hosts are thine ! Nor 
pomp, nor state, 
Nor token, to betray where thou dost wait. 
All Nature stands, for thee, ambassador ; 
Her forces all thy serfs, for peace or war. 
Greatest and least alike, thou rdl'st their fate, — 
The avalanche chained until its centur}^'s date, 
The mulberry leaf made robe for emperor ! 
Shall man alone thy law deny ? — refuse 
Thy healing for his blunders and his sins ? 
Oh, make us thine ! Teach us who waits best sues ; 
Who longest waits of all most surely wins. 
When Time is spent, Eternity begins. 
To doubt, to chafe, to haste, doth God accuse. 



GOD'S LIGHT-HOUSES, 95 




GOD'S LIGHT-HOUSES. 

HEN night falls on the earth, the sea 

From east to west lies twinkling bright 
With shining beams from beacons high 
Which flash afar a friendly light. 



The sailor's eyes, like eyes in prayer, 
Turn unto them for guiding ray : 

If storms obscure their radiance, 

The great ships helpless grope their way. 

When night falls on the earth, the sky 
Looks like a wide, a boundless main. 

Who knows what voyagers sail there ? 

Who names the ports they seek and gain ? 

Are not the stars like beacons set 

To guide the argosies that go 
From universe to universe, 

Our little world above, below ? — 



96 GOD'S LIGHT-HOUSES. 

On their great errands solemn bent, 
In their vast journeys unaware 

Of our small planet's name or place 
Revolving in the lower air. 

O thought too vast ! O thought too glad ! 

An awe most rapturous it stirs. 
From world to world God's beacons shine : 

God means to save his mariners ! 



SONGS OF BATTLE. 



97 



SONGS OF BATTLE. 




LD as the world — no other things so old ; 

Nay, older than the world, else, how had 
sprung 

Such lusty strength in them when earth 
was young? — 
Stand valor and its passion hot and bold, 
Insatiate of battle. How, else, told 
Blind men, born blind, that red was fitting tongue 
Mute, eloquent, to show how trumpets rung 
When armies charged and battle- flags unrolled? 
Who sings of valor speaks for life, for death. 
Beyond all death, and long as life is life, 
In rippled waves the eternal air his breath 
Eternal bears to stir all noble strife. 
Dead Homer from his lost and vanished grave 
Keeps battle glorious still and soldiers brave. 



98 NO MAN'S LAND. 




NO MAN'S LAND. 

HO called it so ? What accident 
The wary phase devised ? 
What wandering fancy thither went, 
And lingered there surprised? 



Ah, no man's land ! O sweet estate 

inimitably fair ! 
No measure, wall, or bar or gate. 

Secure as sky or air. 

No greed, no gain ; not sold or bought, 
Unmarred by name or brand. 

Not dreamed of or desired or sought, 
Nor visioned, ^^ no man's land." 

Suns set and rise, and rise and set. 
Whole summers come and go ; 

And winters pay the summer's debt. 
And years of west wind blow ; 



NO MAN'S LAND. 99 

And harvests of wild seed-times fill, 

And seed and fill again ; 
And blossoms bloom at blossoms' will, 

By blossoms overlain ; 

And day and night, and night and day, 

Uncounted suns and moons, 
By silent shadows mark and stay 

Unreckoned nights and noons : 

Ah, " no man's land," hast thou a lover, 
Thy wild, sweet charm who sees? 

The stars look down \ the birds fly over ; 
Art thou alone with these ? 

Ah, "no man's land," when died thy lover. 

Who left no trace to tell ? 
Thy secret we shall not discover ; 

The centuries keep it well ! 



lOO yUST OUT OF SIGHT. 



JUST OUT OF SIGHT. 




N idle reverie, one winter's day, 

I watched the narrow vista of a street, 
Where crowds of men with noisy, hurry- 
ing feet 
And eager eyes went on their restless way. 
Idly I noted where the boundary lay, 
At which the distance did my vision cheat, 
Past which each figure fading fast did fleet. 
And seem to meet and vanish in the gray. 
Sudden there came to me a thought, oft told. 
But newly shining then like flash of light, — 
" This death, the dread of which turns us so cold. 
Outside of our own fears has no stronghold ; 
'T is but a boundary, past which, in white, 
Our friends are walking still, just out of sight 

II. 

^^ Just out of sight ! " Ay, truly, that is all ! 
Take comfort in the words, and be deceived 
All ye who can, or have not been bereaved ! 
'' Just out of sight.'' 'T is easy to recall 



t " 



JUST OUT OF SIGHT. lOI 

A face, a voice. O foolish words, and small 

And bitter cheer ! Men have all this believed, 

And yet, in agony, to death have grieved, 

For one " just out of sight," beneath a pall ! 

'' Just out of sight." It means the whole of woe : 

One sudden stricken blind who loved the light ; 

One starved where he had feasted day and night ; 

One who was crowned, to beggary brought low ; 

All this death doeth, going to and fro 

And putting those we love ^^ just out of sight." 



102 SEPTEMBER WOODS. 




SEPTEMBER WOODS. 

^IRT round by meadows wearing shabby 
weeds 
For clover's early death, and sentried by 
The tireless locust, with his muffled click 
Of secret weapon, at each footfall, stand 
The woods. 

September, smiling treacherous smiles, 
And bearing in his hand a hollow truce 
Which gentle Summer trusts, can enter free. 
O fatal trust ! Her sacred inner court 
Of Holies, holiest, the lovely queen 
Throws open to the ally of her foe. 
By day, with sunny look and gracious air 
He wins her heart and wears her colors. Night 
Beholds him, in his white and gleaming mail, 
Alert and noiseless, following the dews, 
Her faithful messengers, waylaying them 
With sudden cruel death, and, in their stead, 
His own foul treason bearing through the realm. 
Lured by his guile, the green and twining vines 
Array themselves in party-colored robes 
And loosely flaunt, unknowing 't is their death. 



SEPTEMBER WOODS, IO3 

The low Bunch-Berry her nun's white lays by, 
And wearing claret satin, decks her breast 
With knots of scarlet beads. This sin, O sweet, 
In resurrection of the coming Spring, 
Shall be forgiven thee, and thou again 
Shalt rise, as white as snow. 

The fragrant ferns, 
And clinging mosses, to whom Summer kind 
Had been, more than to other lowly things. 
Are true ; and not till they are trampled low 
By icy warriors, will they refuse 
Their emerald carpet to her tread, and then, 
In cold white grief, will die around her feet : 
The simpering Birch, unstable in the wind, 
Is first to break his faith, and cheaply bought 
By gold, in brazen vanity, lifts up 
His arms, and broadly waves the glittering price 
Of his dishonor : Poplars next and E^lms 
Grow envious of the vellow show, and hold 
Their hands for traitor's wages ; but more scant 
And dim the golden tokens gained by them ; 
For now disloyalty has spread, and grown 
More bold of front : whole clans are cheaply won. 
In hostile signal fires from hill to hill. 
The Maples blaze ; the tangling Sumach-trees 
Of glowing spikes build crimson ladders up 
The wall ; ungainly Moosewood strives and creeps 
And shakes his purple-spotted banner out 
Defiantly ; the sturdy Beeches throw 



I04 SEPTEMBER WOODS. 

Their harvest down, and bristle in a suit 
Of leathern points : all is revolt, and all 
Is lost for Summer ! 

Vainly now she showers 
By brook and pool her wliite and purple stars, 
And lifts in all the fields her Golden-Rod ; 
In vain thin scarlet streamers sets along 
The meadows, and to Gentian's palUd lips 
Of blue calls back the chilled and torpid bee ; 
Sweet queen, her kingdom rocks ! Her only stay 
And comfort now, the loving Pines who wait 
In solemn grief, unmoved and undismayed 
By guile or threats, and to their farthest kin, 
A haughty and untarnished race, will keep 
Eternally inviolate and gi^een 
Their sworn allegiance to her and all 
Her name ! Encircled by their arms she dies ; 
And not the deadliest thrusts of wintry spears, 
Nor sweeping avalanche of snow and ice, 
Can daunt them from their silent watch around 
Her sepulchre, nor from their faithful hold 
Can wrest the babe, who, hid in sacred depths 
x\nd fed on sacred food, and nurtured till 
The fated day, shall lift her infant hand. 
And slaying the usurper, take the throne 
Next in the royal line of summer queens. 



TO-DAY. 105 




TO-DAY. 

SADDEST prisoner, to death condemned, 
Going blindfold, with slow, reluctant feet, 
Hands fettered and mute lips, thy doom 
to meet. 
By flaming swords before, behind thee, hemmed, 
Led by two Fates, — To-morrow, with her gemmed 
Arms that flash mocking tokens of the sweet 
Things thou hadst hoped ; and Yesterday with cheat 
Of withered roses which thou hast contemned, 
Decking her icy brow and heavy pall ; 
While we, mute, helpless, with prophetic black 
Have wrapped ourselves, and in thy narrow track 
Come, hand in hand, blindfolded, fettered all. 
Waiting the hour when, in thy death's last thrall 
Bidding us follow thee, thou shalt look back. 



io6 



OPPORTUNITY. 



OPPORTUNITY. 




DO not know if, climbing some steep hill, 
Through fragrant wooded pass, this glimpse 
I bought, 

Or whether in some mid-day I was caught 
To upper air, where visions of God's will 
In pictures to our quickened sense fulfil 
His word. But this I saw. 

A path I sought 
Through wall of rock. No human fingers wrought 
The golden gates which opened sudden, still, 
And wide. My fear was hushed by my delight. 
Surpassing fair the lands ; my path lay plain ; 
Alas, so spell-bound, feasting on the sight, 
I paused, that I but reached the threshold bright, 
When, swinging swift, the golden gates again 
Were rocky wall, by which I wept in vain. 



FLOWERS ON A GRAVE, lO/ 



FLOWERS ON A GRAVE. 




j'HAT sweeter thing to hear, through tears, 

than this, 
Of one who dies, that, looking on him 

dead. 
All men with tender reverence gazed and said : 
" What courtesy and gentleness were his ! 
Our ruder lives, for years to come, will miss 
His sweet serenity, which daily shed 
A grace we scarcely felt, so deep inbred 
Of nature was it. Loyalty which is 
So loyal as his loyalty to friends 
Is rare ; such purity is rarer still. '^ 
Yes, there is yet one sweeter thing. It ends 
The broken speech with sobs that choke and fill 
Our throats. 

Alas ! lost friend, we knew not how 
Our hearts were won to love thee, until now. 

II. 

Some lives are bright like torches, and their flame 
Casts flickering lights around, and changeful heats ; 
Some lives blaze like the meteor which fleets 
Across the sky ; and some of lofty aim 



I08 FLOWERS ON A GRAVE. 

Stand out like beacon-lights. But never came, 

Or can, a light so satisfying sweet, 

As steady daylight, unperturbed, complete, 

And noiseless. 

Human lives we see the same 

As this ; their equilibrium so just, 

Their movement so serene, so still, small heed 

The world pays to their presence till in need 

It sudden finds itself. The darkness near. 

The precious life returning dust for dust. 

It recollects how noon and life were clear. 

m. 

How poor is all that fame can be or bring ! 
Although a generation feed the p}Te, 
How soon dies out the lifeless, loveless fire ! 
The king is dead. Hurrah ! Long live the king ! 
The poet breathes his last. Who next will sing? 
The great man falls. AMio comes to mount still 

higher ? 
Oh, bitter emptiness of such desire I 
Earth holds but one true good, but one true thing, 
And this is it — to walk in honest ways 
And patient, and with all one's heart belong 
In love unto one's own I No death so strong 
That life like this he ever conquers, slays ; 
The centuries do to it no hurt, no \^Tong : 
They are eternal resurrection days. 



A MEASURE OF HOURS. 109 




A MEASURE OF HOURS. 

NTO those two I called who hold 
In hands omnipotent all lives 
Of men, and deal, Hke gods, such doled 

Alms as they list, to him who strives 

And him who waits alike : 

^^Oh! show 
Me but how measure ye one hour 
Of time, that I at least may know 
If I Hft up this cross what power 
I need ; and what I win of bliss 
If I may dare to pay the cost — 
Whole cost, without which I must miss 
This joy, and feel my hfe lost." 
Then Joy spoke first, all breathless : 

" Drink 1 
An hour seems like eternity. 

My moments hold whole ages. Think 
No price too great which buys for thee 
This boundless bliss. Such hours as mine 



no A MEASURE OF HOURS. 

Mock reckonings. The sands stand still. 
Drink quickly ! I will give the sign 
When it is over. Drink thy fill ! " 

I had scarce tasted when, with face 

All changed and voice grown sharp, Joy cried : 

'' Thine hour is past. Give place ! Give place ! 

New hearts impatiently abide 

Thy going. Every man fills up 

His own swift measure. Thou hadst thine. 

Who weakly drains the empty cup 

Drinks only bitter dregs of wine.'* 

Then Sorrow whispered gently : " Take 
This burden up. Be not afraid. 
An hour is short. Thou scarce wilt wake 
To consciousness that I have laid 
My hand upon thee, when the hour 
Shall all have passed, and, gladder then 
For the brief pain's uplifting power. 
Thou shalt but pity griefless men." 

I grew by minutes changed and old. 
As men change not in many years 
Of happiness. Lifetimes untold 
Seemed dragging lifeless by. My tears 
Ran slow for utter weariness 
Of weeping ; and, when token came 



A MEASURE OF HOURS. 1 1 1 

The hour was done, I felt far less 

Of joy than woe ; as one whose name 

Is called, when prison doors have swung 

Open too late, reluctantly 

Goes forth to find himself among 

Strange faces, desolate, though free. 

'' O cruel brethren, Joy and Grief," 
I cried, ^^ with equal mockery 
Your promises meet our beUef. 
One blossom and one fruit will be 
Your harvest ! But full well I know 
They are not harvest ; only seed 
Sown in our tears, from which shall grow 
In other soil harvest indeed, — 

" Harvest in God's great gardens white. 
Where cool and living waters run, 
And where the spotless Lamb is light. 
Instead of pallid moon and sun ; 
Where constant through the golden air 
The tree of life sheds mystic leaf. 
Which angels to the nations bear, 
Healing alike their joy and grief." 



112 CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. 



CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. 




UT yesterday it was. Long years ago 
It seems. The world so altered looks 
to-day 

That, journeying idly with my thoughts astray, 
I gazed where rose one lofty peak of snow 
Above grand tiers on tiers of peaks below. 
One moment brief it shone, then sank away, 
As swift we reached a point where foot-hills lay 
So near they seemed like mountains huge to grow, 
And touch the sky. That instant, idly still. 
My eye fell on a printed line, and read 
Incredulous, with sudden anguished thrill, 
The name of this great queen among the dead. 
I raised my eyes. The dusty foot-hills near 
Had gone. Again the snowy peak shone clear. 



Oh ! thou beloved woman, soul and heart 
And life, thou standest unapproached and grand. 
As still that glorious snowy peak doth stand. 
The dusty barrier our clumsy art 



CHARLOTTE CUSHMAN. 113 

In terror hath called death holds thee apart 
From us. 'Tis but the low foot-hill of sand 
Which bars our vision in a mountain-land. 
One moment further on, and we shall start 
With speechless joy to find that we have passed 
The dusky mound which shuts us from the hght 
Of thy great love, still quick and warm and fast, 
Of thy great strengths, heroically cast, 
Of thy great soul, still glowing pure and white, 
Of thy great life, still pauseless, full, and bright ! 



1 1 4 DEDICA TION, 



DEDICATION. 




SAW men kneeling where their hands 
had brought 

And fashioned curiously a pile of stone. 
To God they said they gave it, for his own, 
And that their psalms and prayers had wrought 
Its consecration. When, perplexed, I sought 
Their meaning, they but answered with a groan, 
And called my question blasphemy. Alone, 
In silence of the wilderness, I thought 
Again. Swift answer came from rock, tree, sod : 
" These puny prayers superfluous rise, and late 
These psalms. When first the world swung out in 

space, 
Amid the shoutings of the sons of God, 
Then was its every atom dedicate, 
Forever holy by God's gift and grace." 



DAWN. — EVE. 



115 



DAWN. 




ITH a ring of silver, 
And a ring of gold, 
And a red, red rose 

Which illumines her face, 
The sun, like a lover 

Who glows and is bold, 
Wooes the lovely earth 
To his strong embrace. 



EVE. 




N millions of pieces 
The beautiful rings 
And the scattered petals 
Of the rose so red. 



The sun, like a lover 
Who is weary, flings 

On the lonely earth 
When the day is dead. 



Il6 DREAMS. 




DREAMS. 

ilYSTERIOUS shapes, with wands of joy 
and pain, 
Which seize us unaware in helpless sleep, 
And lead us to the houses where we keep 
Our secrets hid, well barred by every chain 
That we can forge and bind : the crime whose stain 
Is slowly fading 'neath the tears we weep ; 
Dead bliss which, dead, can make our pulses leap — 
Oh, cruelty ! To make these live again ! 
They say that death is sleep, and heaven's rest 
Ends earth's short day, as, on the last faint gleam 
Of sun, our nights shut down, and we are blest. 
Let this, then, be of heaven's joy the test, 
The proof if heaven be, or only seem. 
That we forever choose what we will dream ! 



THE DAY-STAR IN THE EAST. 1 17 



THE DAY-STAR IN THE EAST. 




ACH morning, in the eastern sky, I see 
The star that morning dares to call its 

own. 

Night's myriads it has outwatched and 
outshone ; 

Full radiant dawn pales not its majesty ; 

Peer of the sun, his herald fit and free. 

Sudden from earth, dark, heavy mists are blown ; 

The city's grimy smoke, to pillars grown, 

Climbs up the sky, and hides the star from me. 

Strange, that a film of smoke can blot a star ! 

On comes, with blinding glare, the breathless day : 

The star is gone. The moon doth surer lay 

Than midnight gloom, athwart its light, a bar. 

But steadfast as God's angels planets are. 

To-morrow's dawn will show its changeless ray. 



n. 

The centuries are God's days ; within his hand, 
Held in the hollow, as a balance swings, 
Less than its dust, are all our temporal things. 
Long are his nightS; when darkness steeps the land ; 



Il8 THE DAY-STAR IN THE EAST 

Thousands of years fill one slow dawn's demand ] 
The human calendar its measure brings, 
Feeble and vain, to lift the soul that clings 
To hope for light, and seeks to understand. 
The centuries are God's days ; the greatest least 
In his esteem. We have no glass to sweep 
His universe. A hand's-breadth distant dies, 
To our poor ears, the strain whose echoes keep 
All heaven glad. We do but grope and creep. 
There always is a day-star in the skies 1 



OCTOBER 'S BRIGHT BL UE WE A THER. I 1 9 



OCTOBER'S BRIGHT BLUE WEATHER. 




SUNS and skies and clouds of June, 
And flowers of June together, 
Ye cannot rival for one hour 
October's bright blue weather, 



When loud the bumble-bee makes haste, 

Belated, thriftless vagrant. 
And golden -rod is dying fast, 

And lanes with grapes are fragrant ; 

When gentians roll their fringes tight 
To save them for the morning, 

And chestnuts fall from satin burrs 
Without a sound of warning ; 

When on the ground red apples lie 

In piles like jewels shining, 
And redder still on old stone walls 

Are leaves of woodbine twining ; 



1 20 OCTOBER 'S BRIGHT BLUE WEA THER. 

When all the lovely wayside things 
Their white-winged seeds are sowing, 

And in the fields, still green and fair, 
Late aftermaths are grovvdng ; 

When springs run low, and on the brooks, 

In idle golden freighting, 
Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush 

Of woods, for winter waiting ; 

When comrades seek sweet country haunts. 

By twos and twos together. 
And count like misers hour by hour, 

October's bright blue weather. 

O suns and skies and flowers of June, 
Count all your boasts together, 

Love loveth best of all the year 
October's bright blue weather. 



THE RIVIERA, I2I 



THE RIVIERA. 




PEERLESS shore of peerless sea, 
Ere mortal eye had gazed on thee, 
What god was lover first of thine, 
Drank deep of thy unvintaged wine, 
And lying on thy shining breast 
Knew all thy passion and thy rest ; 
And when thy love he must resign, 
O generous god, first love of thine. 
Left such a dower of wealth to thee. 
Thou peerless shore of peerless sea ! 
Thy balmy air, thy stintless sun. 
Thy orange-flowering never done. 
Thy myrtle, olive, palm, and pine, 
Thy golden figs, thy ruddy wine. 
Thy subtle and resistless spell 
Which all men feel and none can tell? 
O peerless shore of peerless sea ! 
From all the world we turn to thee ; 
No wonder deem we thee divine ! 
Some god was lover first of thine. 



122 SEMITONES. 




SEMITONES. 

J]H me, the subtle boundary between 

What pleases and what pains ! The dif- 
ference 

Between the word that thrills our every sense 
With joy and one which hurts, although it mean 
No hurt ! It is the things that are unseen, 
Invisible, not things of violence, 
For which the mightiest are without defence. 
On kine most fair to see one may grow lean 
With hunger. Many a snowy bread is doled 
Which is far harder than the hardest stones. 
'Tis but a narrow line divides the zones 
Where suns are warm from those where suns are 

cold. 
'Twixt harmonies divine as chords can hold 
And torturinsf discords, lie but semitones ! 



IN THE DARK. 1 23 




IN THE DARK. 

^S one who journeys on a stormy night 
Through mountain passes which he does 
not know 

Shields like his hfe from savage gusts that blow 
The swaying flame of his frail torch's light, 
So each of us through Hfe's long groping fight 
Clings fast to one dear faith, one love, whose glow 
Makes darkness noonday to our trusting sight, 
And joys of perils into which we go. 
God help us, when this precious shining mark 
The raging storms of deep distrust assail 
With icy, poisoned breath and deadly aim, 
Till we, with hearts that shrink and cower and quail 
In terror which no measure has nor name. 
Stand trembling, helpless, palsied, in the dark. 



1 24 MORDECAL 




MORDECAI. 

i|AKE friends with him ! He is of royal 
line, 
Although he sits in rags. Not all of 
thine 
Array of splendor, pomp of high estate, 
Can buy him from his place within the gate, 
The King's Gate of thy happiness, where he, 
Yes, even he, the Jew, remaineth free. 
Never obeisance making, never scorn 
Betraying of thy silver and new-born 
Delight. Make friends with him, for unawares 
The charmed secret of thy joys he bears ; 
Be glad, so long as his black sackcloth, late 
And early, thwarts thy sun ; for if in hate 
And haste thou plottest for his blood, thy own 

death-cry, 
Not his, comes from the gallows fifty cubits high. 



IN APRIL. 125 




IN APRIL. 

HAT did the sparrow do yesterday ? 
Nobody knew but the sparrows ; 
He were too bold who should try to say ; 
They have forgotten it all to-day. 
Why does it haunt my thoughts this way, 
With a joy that piques and harrows, 
As the birds fly past, 
And the chimes ring fast. 
And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast?- 

There 's a maple-bud redder to-day ; 

It will almost flower to-morrow ; 
I could swear 't was only yesterday 
In a sheath of snow and ice it lay. 
With fierce winds blowing it every way ; 
Whose surety had it to borrow. 
Till birds should fly past, 
And chimes ring fast. 
And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast ? 



126 IN APRIL, 

" Was there ever a day like to-day, 
So clear, so shining, so tender? " 
The old cry out ; and the children say. 
With a laugh, aside : '^ That 's always the way 
With the old, in spring ; as long as they stay, 
They find in it greater splendor, 
When the birds fly past. 
And the chimes ring fast, 
And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast ! " 

Then that may be why my thoughts all day — 

I see I am old, by the token — 
Are so haunted by sounds, now sad, now gay, 
Of the words I hear the sparrows say. 
And the maple-bud's mysterious way 
By which from its sheath it has broken, 
While the birds fly past. 
And the chimes ring fast, 
And the long spring shadows sweet shadow cast ! 



TJVO HARVESTS. 12/ 




TWO HARVESTS. 



BLOSSOM and fruit no man could count or 

hoard j 
Seasons their laws forgot, in riot haste 
Lavishing yield on yield in madman's waste ; 
No tropic with its centuries' heat outpoured 
In centuries of summers, ever stored 
Such harvest. 

Had the earth her sole pearl placed 
In wine of sun to melt, — one blissful taste 
To drain and die, — it had not fully dowered 
This harvest ! 

She who smihng goes, a queen, 
Reaping with alabaster arms and hands 
The fruits and flowers of these magic lands. 
With idle, satiate intervals between, — 
Oh, what to her do laws of harvest mean ? 
Joy passes by her, where she laden stands ! 



128 TJVO HARVESTS, 



II. 



A PARCHED and arid land, all colorless, 
Than desert drearier, than rock more stern ; 
Spring could not find, nor any summer learn 
The secret to redeem this wilderness. 
Harsh winds sweep through with icy storm and stress : 
Fierce lurid suns shine but to blight and burn ; 
And streams rise, pallid, but to flee and turn : 
Who soweth here waits miracle to bless 
The harvest ! 

She who smiling goes, a queen, 
Seeking with hidden tears and tireless hands 
To win a fi-uitage fi*om these barren lands, — 
She knoweth what the laws of harvest mean ! 
Blades spring, flowers bloom, by all but her unseen ; 
Joy's halo crowns her, where she patient stands ! 



HABEAS CORPUS, 1 29 




HABEAS CORPUS. 

Y body, eh? Friend Death, how now? 
Why all this tedious pomp of writ ? 
Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow 
For half a century, bit by bit. 



In faith thou knowest more to-day 
Than I do, where it can be found ! 

This shrivelled lump of suffering clay, 
To which I now am chained and bound, 

Has not of kith or kin a trace 
To the good body once I bore; 

Look at this shrunken, ghastly face : 
Didst ever see that face before? 

Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art; 

Thy only fault thy lagging gait, 
Mistaken pity in thy heart 

For timorous ones that bid thee wait. 



130 HABEAS CORPUS. 

Do quickly all thou hast to do, 

Nor I nor mine will hindrance make ; 

I shall be free when thou art through ; 

I grudge thee nought that thou must take ! 

Stay ! I have lied ; I grudge thee one, 
Yes, two I grudge thee at this last, — 

Two members which have faithful done 
My will and bidding in the past. 

I grudge thee this right hand of mine ; 

I grudge thee this quick-beating heart ; 
They never gave me coward sign, 

Nor played me once a traitor's part. 

I see now why in olden days 

Men in barbaric love or hate 
Nailed enemies' hands at wild crossways, 

Shrined leaders' hearts in costly state : 

The symbol, sign, and instrument 

Of each soul's purpose, passion, strife. 

Of fires in which are poured and spent 
Their all of love, their all of life. 

O feeble, mighty human hand ! 

O fragile, dauntless human heart ! 
The universe holds nothing planned 

With 3uch sublime, transcendent art ! 



HABEAS CORPUS. 131 

Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine 

Poor little hand, so feeble now ; 
Its wrinkled palm, its altered line, 

Its veins so pallid and so slow — 

. . . (Unfinished here.) 

Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art ; 

I shall be free when thou art through. 
Take all there is — take hand and heart ; 

There must be somewhere work to do. 



132 



A LAST PRAYER, 




A LAST PRAYER. 

ATHER, I scarcely dare to pray, 
So clear I see, now it is done, 
That I have wasted half my day, 
And left my work but just begun ; 



So clear I see that things I thought 

Were right or harmless were a sin ; 
So clear I see that I have sought, 
Unconscious, selfish aims to win; 

So clear I see that I have hurt 

The souls I might have helped to save ; 
That I have slothful been, inert, 

Deaf to the calls thy leaders gave. 



In outskirts of thy kingdoms vast, 
Father, the humblest spot give me ; 

Set me the lowliest task thou hast ; 
Let me repentant work for thee ! 



THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE, 1 33 



THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE. 




IS thoughts were song, his life was singing ; 
Men's hearts like harps he held and 
smote, 



But in his heart went ever ringing, 

Ringing, the song he never wrote. 

Hovering, pausing, luring, fleeting, 
A farther blue, a brighter mote, 

The vanished sound of swift winds meeting, 
The opal swept beneath the boat. 

A gleam of wings forever flaming, 

Never folded in nest or cote ; 
Secrets of joy, past name or naming; 

Measures of bliss past dole or rote \ 

Echoes of music, always flying, 

Always echo, never the note ; 
Pulses of life, past life, past dying, — 

All these in the song he never wrote. 



134 THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE. 

Dead at last, and the people, weeping, 

Turned from his grave with wringing hands, ■ 

" What shall we do, now he Hes sleeping, 
His sweet song silent in our lands ? 



*' Just as his voice grew clearer, stronger,'* — 
This was the thought that keenest smote, — 

" O Death ! couldst thou not spare him 
longer ? 
Alas for the songs he never wrote ! " 

Free at last, and his soul up-soaring, 
Planets and skies beneath his feet. 

Wonder and rapture all out-pouring. 
Eternity how simple, sweet ! 



Sorrow slain, and every regretting. 
Love and Love's labors left the same, 

Weariness over, suns without setting. 
Motion like thought on wings of flame : 



Higher the singer rose and higher, 
Heavens, in spaces, sank Hke bars ; 

Great joy within him glowed like fire. 
He tossed his arms among the stars, — 



THE SONG HE NEVER WROTE. 

" This is the life, past life, past dying ; 

I am I, and I live the life : 
Shame on the thought of mortal crying ! 

Shame on its petty toil and strife ! 

" Why did I halt, and weakly tremble ? " 
Even in heaven the memory smote, — 

" Fool to be dumb, and to dissemble ! 
Alas for the song I never wrote ! " 



135 




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